Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (27 page)

Screams erupted as the worshipers, even Atabei, scattered.

Matt strode across the emptying yard, smoking Mac-10 leveled before him, and Dämoren trained on Malcolm.

"There you are, Milky," Ghede said, sauntering up. "You ran away."

Legba came around the side and knelt beside Malcolm. Sores pitted the homeless man's cheeks and forehead. "He is weak. We haven't much time."

"Hounacier…" Malcolm mumbled.

"He's dying," Matt said. "He's in pain."

The firelight reflected in Ghede's single lens. "Pain tells us we're alive."

Malcolm blinked, trying to focus on Matt. "The bond…still there."

"We can save him," Legba said. "But we must go."

"Spencer, you get him in the truck." Ghede rose to his feet and hurried off. "I'll get the mask."

Chapter Nineteen

"You sure this will hold him?" Matt asked, tightening Sogbo's leather collar around Malcolm's wrists.

"He ain't going nowhere." Papa Legba scratched the now docile Rottweiler behind the ear. "Is he, boy?"

Malcolm grunted in pain as Matt heaved him up into the truck's cab and moved him into a sitting position on the bench seat. The engine still rumbled. He looked up to see Ghede prancing out Atabei's back door and down the steps, bottle in one hand, silver wolf mask in the other.

"I got 'em," he said, grinning.

"That's not the ghoul mask," Matt said.

"Don't need it. Don't worry, Spence, ain't like it can walk away."

"What if she takes it?"

"Then we'll know where to find it." Ghede grinned. "Stop worryin' about it."

Papa Legba snapped his fingers and pointed to Bade, still chained across the yard. "Go." Sogbo ran where the loa ordered. Legba turned to Matt. "You too. The others should be there by now. I'll go to prepare." His eyes rolled back. He staggered back, nearly falling. Shaking his head, he looked around. "Where…?"

"Go on home, Jeffrey," Ghede said.

The man looked up to see Malcolm bound and bleeding in the truck. Then his gaze locked on Matt's gun. "Shit!"

Ghede laughed as the man ran away. "And stop stealing Tishaun's smokes!" He swigged his rum and turned to Matt. "Get in. I'll drive."

"Where are we taking him?" Matt asked.

"The crossroads. Get in." He ran around to the driver's side and climbed up into the seat beside Malcolm. He reeked of body odor.

Matt squeezed into the passenger seat on the other side. He held Dämoren across his lap, pointed at Malcolm. "Don't try anything."

Malcolm eyed at the gun and snorted. "Don't…worry…about me." He rolled his head toward Ghede. "Can…you drive?"

Grinning, the loa took the wheel. "Never had to before."

"Wait," Matt said, his voice rising an octave. "You can't—"

Papa Ghede threw the truck into reverse and slammed the accelerator. Malcolm jolted forward, nearly coming out of his seat as the truck bounced over the broken fence and into the street. Papa Ghede cackled in unbridled joy as he wrenched the wheel around and mashed the brakes. "Hold on!"

Malcolm pressed his weak legs against the floorboard as the loa found the gear, hit the gas, and took off down the dark streets. His sweat-slicked hair whipped in the wind from the open windows.

"Jesus!" Matt fought with his seatbelt, trying to buckle it one-handed.

"Not quite," Ghede said. Tires squealed as he slung the truck around a hard turn and clipped a mailbox. He wrestled with the wheel, jerking them side to side, before leveling out and continuing on. "Lucky we found you, Milky. Why did you leave?"

"I…I didn't know Hounacier still loved me."

"'Course she loves you. Till death do you part, and The Baron hasn't come for you yet. But he will unless we get you to him first."

"Baron Samedi?"

"He's the only one that can save your life." Papa Ghede knocked back his rum, spilling some down his chin. "But you have to save your soul."

Malcolm nodded absently, unsure what the loa meant. "Why…didn't you get Hounacier…from…Atabei?"

"Why?" Papa Ghede shot an insulted glare. "You're her husband." He shook his head and laughed. "That's your job."

"Will you watch the road?" Matt hissed, clutching the handle above the door.

"Don't worry, Spence." He hooked a right onto Claiborne.

A car horn blared, the driver's mouth an angry "O."

Ghede thrust his head out the open window and yelled back, "You watch that mouth, Timothy, or I'll tell your mama about what's hidden in your closet!" He laughed.

Malcolm watched his bound hands in his lap, not wanting to see the road. Fresh blood pooled in the nook of his wrist. If Dämoren's bullets didn't kill him, the loa's driving surely would. He imagined the police response to that wreck. Stolen truck, homeless drunk at the wheel, Malcolm's hands bound with two silver bullets in him, Matt with an antique revolver and a machine gun. Headline material if there ever was.

"Now, as I was saying, don't worry. I'll get you home to Luiza before her titties get all plump."

"What?" Matt asked.

"Her titties." The truck started the incline up the bridge.

"How do you know all this? How did you know she's pregnant?"

The loa roared with laughter. He leaned down, his face close enough to bathe Malcolm in rum-soaked breath. "Oh, he's fun. You never told him about Papa Ghede?"

"Sorry," Malcolm mumbled. Darkness worked at the edges of his vision.

"Milky and I go way back. I was there when he met his lady."

Malcolm's head sank lower. The roar of the wind and traffic grew distant.

"Why do you keep calling him that?"

"Why don't you, Spencer Mallory?"

Malcolm closed his heavy eyelids.

"That's not my name anymore?"

"Your name is your name," Papa Ghede chuckled. "That reminds me of…"

A cool numbness rolled up Malcolm's body like sliding into a still, black sea…floating…the shore growing distant, its lights sinking below the horizon.

"Malcolm!" Ghede screamed in his ear.

Malcolm bolted upright, eyes wide.

Ghede shook his head, his single visible eye narrow. "Don't you be doin' that. We're too close now."

Licking his lips, Malcolm looked out the window.
How long was I out?
They were barreling toward the I10. Matt watched him with hard eyes, his jaw tight. He looked terrified, and Malcolm didn't blame him. "I'm sorry…about attacking you. It was…in control. I didn't even know it, and when I did…I couldn't stop it."

Matt just looked at him. "Are you in control now?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Malcolm's lips parted to answer, but he looked away. "No."

"Move!" Papa Ghede shouted, blaring the horn as he ran a red light. They shot up the on ramp and onto the highway. "Now we're movin'." He slapped the wheel like a child with a drum.

Still not wanting to see the road, Malcolm focused hard on the dash before him. How had he been so fooled into thinking Hounacier had broken her bond? He should have known. If he had, he'd…what? What could he have done? The demon had controlled every move he'd made since it'd taken him.
No, not every move.
He'd taken control. If he'd known, Malcolm could have fought Gulmet harder. Hounacier still loved him. Malcolm had to live.

Ghede was yammering away about tits and laughing at his own jokes. Malcolm kept his eyes on the dash, ignoring him, and trying to keep his breath steady. Finally, Ghede hung a hard turn onto Jackson, and Malcolm realized where they were going.

A few blocks later, they turned onto a narrow street. The stained glass windows of Saints of Light Church were dark, but nearly twenty cars filled the little lot. Figures hurried in and out the gymnasium doors, silhouetted by the lights inside.

"Looks like they're here." Ghede pulled into the gravel drive and slid to a stop beside a police car. "Family reunion, Milky." He mashed the horn. "He's here!"

People rushed to the truck as Matt and Ghede stepped out. Malcolm felt more than saw the hands pull him from the seat. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't move. Everything slipped and warbled in and out of focus.

"Get him inside," a man said. It took a moment before Malcolm realized it was Earl Warren, shirtless and in jeans.

Arms cradled from either side as they carried him on his back toward the door. Drums and voices sounded from within. Malcolm lifted his chin to his chest, trying to see. Between his bare feet and the moving bodies all around him, he saw the doors open wide into a large room lit with candles.

"Bring him to me," a voice boomed.

The figures parted, revealing a giant man in a top hat and long tuxedo jacket. A thick cigar smoldered between grinning teeth. Baron Samedi.

"Set him down," the Baron ordered.

The carriers lowered Malcolm to a dirt floor. The Baron knelt beside him and leaned close. It was Jim Luison, but there was nothing about Malcolm's old friend in those piercing eyes. He plucked the cigar from his lips and smiled. "Malcolm Romero," he cooed, smoke curling from his mouth. "Long time."

"Baron," Malcolm mumbled.

Baron Samedi leaned close and sniffed, his nostrils flaring wide. "You got death on you, Malcolm." He inhaled again. "But your soul is cursed. I can help your body," he sucked the cigar. "But I can't remove the curse. Do you want to live?"

"Y…yes."

"It ain't free, Malcolm. You willin' to pay the price?"

Malcolm nodded.

The Baron smiled. "You gotta say it, Doctor."

"Yes."

"Good." He looked to the side. "Do it. Quickly!"

A goat bleated nearby, followed by shuffling movement. The drumbeats grew louder.

"That's right," Baron Samedi said. "Good. Bring it here." He accepted a shallow bowl and lifted Malcolm's head. "Drink this."

The smell of blood tickled Malcolm's senses before he saw it. Hunger awoke deep inside him as the Baron urged his lips to the rim.

"Drink it."

It was hot. The salty, metallic taste flooded his mouth. Repulsed, he wanted to gag, but was too weak to fight the sudden primal urge. The heat flowed down his throat with each shallow swallow, spreading through his veins.

Malcolm gasped and choked on the blood as the numbness washed away. The sounds of drums and voices exploded in his ears. The scrapes and even Hounacier's cut mended. New blood belched from the bullet wounds as Dämoren's twin slugs burned with renewed fire.

Baron Samedi drew the bowl away before Malcolm's writhing could spill it.

Malcolm twisted as the bullets seared his renewed organs. "Burns!"

"Hold still," the Baron ordered, pressing him down with a huge hand. With his other, he traced the bleeding gut wound then rammed his fingers into the hole.

Malcolm screamed, but the firm hand pressed him in place.

The Baron grinned around his cigar. "There it is." He withdrew a steaming, deformed slug. Crimson lines of blood marked its etched surface. He eyed it appreciatively then dropped it on the ground. Accepting the bowl from outstretched hands, he lifted Malcolm's head. "Drink."

Again, the healing waves rushed down Malcolm's throat. This time, he could sense the power inside it, not unlike the power Gulmet tasted in his victims' terror but different. Heat surged into the remaining slug. Malcolm fought back a scream.

Handing off the bowl, Baron Samedi rolled Malcolm onto his side. Again, he traced around the hole and then plunged his fingers inside.

Malcolm wailed, feeling the think fingers burrowing deep, the nails raking his inside as the inched toward the searing hot bullet.

"Here we are." The fingers thrust deeper then withdrew, taking the slug with them. He rolled Malcolm over and pushed the bowl again to his lips. "Drink."

Greedily, Malcolm gulped the blood down, savoring the warm power. The Baron raised it higher, letting him have all that was inside. It ran at the corners of his mouth, down his cheeks and onto his neck and ears.

"There." The Baron set the bowl down and smiled. Withdrawing the cigar, he tapped the clump of ash from the tip.

His vision clear, Malcolm realized it was Maggie kneeling beside him who had brought the bowl of goat's blood. Her lips were flat and emotionless. A hard sadness marred her eyes. Most of the other faces he also recognized as priests and priestesses throughout the city, many he hadn't seen in years.

A stickly thin man with a trimmed goatee and a white straw hat stood behind Maggie, leaning on a cane. He gave Papa Legba's elegant smile. "Now for your part, Doctor."

A gun clicked. The crowd parted, and Matt stood at Malcolm's feet, Dämoren trained on him. Now that he was healed, Gulmet could seize him at will.

"Take him to the crossroads," Legba ordered.

Hands whipped down from above him. Malcolm caught the glint of silver then a slender, metal chain wrapped his throat. The drums began to thump with a slow cadence as the followers lifted Malcolm and carried him.

In the heart of the room, loa slowly circled within an elaborate ring of white dust on the floor, a small gap on one end. A dark, polished pole stood at the circle's heard. Tasha was among them, a bright scarf of red, gold, and blue about her head, but it wasn't Tasha. Erzulie had taken her.

They carried Malcolm into the ring and stood him against the pole. They lashed his ankles and tied his wrists above his head, cinching them tight. The drums' loud pulse continued as the non-mounted left the incomplete circle. Then Papa Ghede stepped inside, the silver wolf mask in his hands.

He set it on the ground before him and met Malcolm's eye. His joviality was gone. "I believe in you, Milky. Make me proud."

Malcolm looked at the fearsome mask. "I can't."